


Forget Me Not

by GrumpyQueer



Series: Ficlets [3]
Category: Ripper Street
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Flowers, Origin Story, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9712262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyQueer/pseuds/GrumpyQueer
Summary: A little story about how Emily and Edmund first met.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a headcanon I have had for a while. Written for Valentine's Day.

It all officially began one rainy afternoon. She had just moved to The East End, forced from her previous lodgings in North London when a greedy landlord had increased the rent twice in one month alone. Unable to manage, she packed up her few belongings and headed to where many would desperately avoid. But it didn't take long for her to feel Whitechapel's charm. The streets were drab and stricken with poverty, yet there was a resilience in the people found there: a lack of pretence, feelings of hope amidst the despair. She saw the comradery, the locals who smiled far more often than not, curtsied, tipped their weathered hats as she passed by. Of course, there was also crime aplenty, an unfortunate necessity to aid the forgotten who were forced to find other means to feed their family's hungry mouths. She turned her head and tried not to let it get to her when, every other day, men would be brawling in the street, blood splattering over the dirty gutters before the rush of the young constables and sergeants would come and tend to the scene. She told herself such things happened everywhere, so she carried on and dug her heels in, determined to stay and make it her home.    
  
So after finding herself some stable lodgings, she used all of her remaining funds to rent a small stall in the local marketplace, waking at the crack of dawn to go to the flower markets, stocking her cart so it overflowed with every blossoming colour in the rainbow. Soon, she found herself with regular customers, making friends and earning enough to see her sufficiently fed every day and sheltered safely every night, a nice warm fire to read beside and a bed to curl up into and rest her head. Whitechapel had welcomed her, it seemed, despite its grimy, rough edges, and she was surprised to see how quickly she had become accustomed to its way of life. Calm, even when her money tin was stolen by a thief whom she never even noticed in the act. They must have needed it desperately, she told herself, sympathising with their plight. How could she not? She saw young children every day that were barely more than skin and bone, families of gaunt faces who shared between them a meal which would scarcely feed one stomach alone. Knowing it was not an easy living quarter, she regularly gave money to beggars on the street, but after her money tin was stolen a second time, she reluctantly reported the crime, paying a small boy in filthy, tattered clothes to run a note for her down to Leman Street.   


Not long later, a young bobby arrived at her stall, and he unexpectedly stirred the butterflies in her stomach. He was tall, wide-eyed and handsome, and kept losing his words as he tried to interview her, nervously adjusting his uniform and clinging onto his duty belt. She chuckled when he mentioned his recent promotion from constable to sergeant, sensing he was trying to impress her and flirt, albeit rather awkwardly. He took his time, however, looking around for evidence while she smirked at how proper he sounded, how precise he spoke for a young man living in this rough quarter. Though, she rather admired the lost and gentle quality about him, and when he left after taking his notes and tipping his helmet, she was surprised at how saddened she felt by his departure.

Luckily, it was only a few days until she saw him once more, running by at a great speed in a pursuit, but not without nodding and smiling at her as he escorted the captive back past her stall, down towards the station-house. And another few days passed before she saw him arresting a man in the midst of a frenzy, nearly getting stabbed in the process as he held the criminal down with his knees and struggled to get him in irons. Then, the very next day, he swaggered by to get lunch from the market, pausing as he realised he was in front of her flower cart and then edging up towards her like a shy puppy. She blushed profusely when he offered to buy her some lunch, nodding in appreciation and asking him to surprise her when he asked what she would like. Ten minutes later, he returned to her with a meat pie and a slice of cake, so she thanked him by pinning one of her flowers to his uniform: a Forget-Me-Not which matched his blue eyes. Continuing to linger by her cart all through his afternoon shift, the two of them babbled away, smiling and laughing until his unfathomably tall, mutton-chopped superior stomped past, scowling at him to get back to work and threatening to wedge a boot up his arse if he did not. Looking momentarily ashamed, he promptly straightened himself up and disappeared into the crowd to continue his patrol, but not without turning around and shooting her a goofy smirk just before rounding a corner.  
  
Then came _that_ rainy afternoon. The streets were near empty as she packed up her stall, the downpour of rain heavy and turning the gutters to mud, thunder clapping above in the grey sky as the locals took cover as best they could. Heading back to her lodgings, she spotted him not far from her home, patrolling the area with his hands behind his back and getting completely drenched in the rain. She then crossed the street to greet him, his eyebrows shooting up and a grin overtaking his face when he saw her approach, his eyes now beaming. Immediately noticing his shiver and chattering teeth, she rubbed his arm and offered to let him dry his clothes by her fire and make him a nice pot of hot tea, and, after glancing around to ensure his inspector was nowhere to be seen, he most happily obliged. They then went up to her room, where she quickly lit the fire and stove, poking the embers whilst he thanked her and took off much of his wet uniform, hanging his coat over a chair to dry. Once the kettle pot soon whistled, she asked him how he takes his tea, blushing as he moved closer to her and smiled sweetly, politely asking her for a dash of milk and no sugar. But they didn’t get much further before finding themselves pulled together, kissing feverishly and falling back onto her bed, tugging at each other’s wet clothes which stuck to their skin. As the rain then continued to pour and trickle down her window, they made love for the very first time, panting and moaning and tumbling together into the late hours. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
